In Retrospect
by kateofallpeople
Summary: Hermione believes it's 1996, which is wrong. Her hospital file is labeled Hermione Potter. On awakening from a coma post-accident, Hermione is filled in on 9 years of friends, the war, and how she fell for Harry, and must choose how to live this new life. Hermione finds herself, for once, completely baffled by something - Retroactive Amnesia.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Okay, this is going to be a really, awesomely long first chapter, but it's totally worth it. I've been wanting to start this Harmony for a while, so enjoy, don't forget to review and get those alerts!**

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><p>It's odd, really. The way she's dreaming, as if she isn't dreaming at all. In fact, Hermione clearly remembers doodling exactly like this during a rather dry History of Magic lecture the week before. And hadn't she just seen a glimpse of something she knew was real? The canaries, her obvious bitterness with Ron after his display of disgusting affection with Lavender Brown, of all idiots? Hadn't she just seen Harry, sitting beside her in the common rooms, reading one of her books? The fireplace is roaring just a few feet away, casting a warm glow over both of them. He looks up at her, smiling for just a brief moment before hiding back behind the tome. But then the canaries are here, too, and she's sure she wasn't practicing that charm at the time.<p>

What is this? Hermione thinks to herself that she might be having a sort of semi-conscious dream, in which she's just replaying flashbacks of the last few days, some a little muddled. That would make more sense than anything else, she supposes. The part that seems even stranger still is that she can't help but feel that all of these things happened years ago, in some distant time. It feels like ages since she's seen Hogwarts, though she must have just fallen asleep in her four poster. It's odd. It's all very, very odd. And then it goes black.

When the light returns, however, it feels to be much, much later. And it's much too bright. It's Wednesday, if she remembers correctly. She tries to make a 'huh' sound, but nothing seems to come out. Stranger, still. From the side of her vision she can see a window, not unlike the one in her dormitory at Hogwarts. The sun, however, must be in the middle of the sky right now. She's supposed to be in Charms! Flitwick must be wondering where she is, she's never missed a class this year and it would be dreadful to do so now.

Even more puzzling - as if this day could be any more - is the figure hunched over her bed, clearly upset. It's odd, really. He looks a little like Harry's late father. Younger, of course, but strikingly similar. Messy black hair, somewhat broad shoulders on his still thin frame. She can even see glasses on the table beside him. She decides she'll deal with that later, as a quick drift of the eye has informed Hermione that she is not in her four poster at all. This room and the bedding are all completely white, some light blue, and she seems to be the only bed in the room. It's almost like... Also, it smells much too clean to be the dormitory of five teenage girls. Frustrated, Hermione realizes she'd love to take more of a look around and figure out where she is and what's going on, but everything feels extremely heavy. She can't even move her own arms. Her eyelids feel rather heavy as well... perhaps she can just sleep this off, and hope that this was all a dream as well...

* * *

><p>"Is she...?"<p>

Noise. There was no noise before, not in the dreams. Someone's speaking, possibly about her, directly next to her. The voice seems a little familiar, though she can't quite place it.

"I believe so." This one is a deeper voice, one she's sure she's never heard before.

"Oh, thank Merlin. Thank you, thank you!"

There seems to be a commotion. Perhaps it's her father. She realizes as her eyes flutter open and closed again that she's in a hospital room, probably at St. Mungo's. Maybe she was in an accident at school, maybe she was poisoned or something - she almost wouldn't put it past Lavender to get her out of the picture - or she fell out of bed and hit her head. It's got to be something big, as whoever this voice belongs to seems to be extremely happy that she's conscious once again.

"Hermione?"

Not her father. Not Daniel Granger. Still familiar. Eyes keep closing. Keep trying.

"Hermione, please... I know you're in there. You've got to open up. I've missed you."

But who has even missed her enough to say so?

The deeper voice again, he clears his throat first. "It could take her a few moments to recover full consciousness... but she appears to be completely fine. Should make a full recovery in a matter of weeks. Days, maybe, if you keep a close eye on her."

"I'll never take my eyes off her again." That familiar voice again, but somehow it's different.

"We've got a few tests to run, so as much as I'd love to let you stick around, we've got tests to make sure her brain activity is normal. After prolonged periods such as these... things can get complicated."

"And what about...?"

"Should be completely fine. Why don't you wait right out in the hallway, sir, and we'll call you in as soon as we can."

There's some movement to her right - the man beside her bed - and then a door shutting. Definitely a hospital door, the hydraulic noises don't belong anywhere in Hogwarts.

"Hermione, dear, it's time to wake up. This is your Healer, Dr Spalling. You were in an accident. You seem to have regained normal brain wave patterns, so we need you to wake up. Up, up, up! It's a big day. People are going to be very excited to see you." The deeper voice is so calming, though, that she just wants to sleep again. She's just so _tired._ And yet she just woke.

Why would people be so excited to see her? It was probably just a little spill. She's really got to get to Charms before the lesson is over, though. Despite the fact that she probably knows it, she wants to make sure Flitwick doesn't deviate from the book or plans and teach something completely new. She'd hate to be behind on a new advanced Charm.

All at once, it hits her - the light, consciousness, the heaviness of her body. She tries to rise, but can only barely move.

"Easy there, we'll lift your bed into a sitting position." And he does. And all at once, she can see - the crisp white hospital linens, the wrinkle-faced Healer standing beside her bed, smiling. "There you are, dear. Just took a little recovery time."

"How much time? I can't be late..."

His smile drops. This doesn't look good. "Late for what, dear?"

"For Charms class. Flitwick has got to be looking for me, this can't be good..."

"Hermione, what year is it?"

"It's ninety-six. November twelfth, to be exact. It's a Wednesday. I'm late for Charms. Even Harry must be looking for me, and I suppose a few others as well, especially in the class."

He shuffles to a desk, not answering any of her comments. What kind of Healer is he? He isn't being very kind. He checks a calendar, flicking his wand so that pages seem to appear from nowhere - he's putting pages back onto a calendar. Funny, she hasn't learned that one yet and probably has no use for it, but it seems rather interesting. He shakes his head.

"Oh, dear. One moment, miss. Don't make any sudden movements, your head is still a bit fuzzy."

"Understandable, sir. I'll stay put." Just as she should. The doctor takes a few moments to return, and when he does, he's alone again.

"Sir, who was that man in here with me? He and his voice seemed so familiar, but changed at the same time..."

"Miss Granger, what would you say if I asked you what had recently happened between you and a Ron Weasley?"

"Ron? Is that who's out there? Good, Lavender will have a fit. Ron decided to cast out whatever weird feelings we might have had for each other for a snotty little prat named Lavender Brown. Honestly, she's got the most annoying, girly voice on the entire planet, I can't stand her. She's always passing me in the halls now, on his arm, and I swear if they're not snogging, she's shooting daggers at me..."

"Repeat the date for me."

"November twelfth. Nineteen ninety-six."

"Wrong."

"Perhaps my little spill put me a couple days off then. It's still November, right?"

"No, November has passed. Hermione, nineteen ninety-six is long gone as well. You have suffered a brain injury a tad more serious than we originally thought. Oh, dear... there was an accident... the year is two-thousand and five. Nine years have passed since then. I'm afraid, my dear, that you've encountered a sort of Retrograde Amnesia."

And then it all makes sense. Why those memories seemed so far away - because they were. Why that voice seemed so familiar, but had changed. It was someone from her past, for certain, but nine years had passed. They were older now. That made her... twenty six! She was twenty-six years old. But how?

"If you don't mind, I'm going to step into the hallway for a moment and explain the situation... if you'd like, I can let you see your file to see a few more things about yourself. A draught will be brought in to attempt to help you regain some of your more recent memories, and then we'll have a talk with your family."

"My parents are here?" Thank gods. I'd been hoping they were near, this was all too confusing."

He only gives her a sad little smile, handing her the file before stepping outside once more.

Her file immediately sets off alarms. Her name is wrong. It's got to be. She's twenty-six. It's two-thousand and five. She can't breathe. The name on her file does not read Hermione Granger, but Hermione Potter. Even stranger so is a clear marking under her status that sends her head spinning so fast, she feels she might fall asleep again. She doesn't. This is no dream. This, she finds, is reality.

Oh, dear.

* * *

><p>"So, she could regain her memories?"<p>

"She definitely could. It's actually highly common that victims of retrograde amnesia do - though a timeframe isn't guaranteed. It could be gradual, starting now, it could happen all at once, years from now."

"What about Sirius?"

"Introduce the two of them. With some prompting, from you, I'm sure she'll warm to him."

Sirius? How can Harry's godfather be here? Harry's clearly in the hallway - her _husband _Harry. She peeks under the blanket again, staring at the middle of her torso. Yes, still there. A rather defined little bump, round as can be.

"That's excellent. I know he's still quite young, but he's certainly not forgetful. He asks for her constantly."

"I can imagine... it's been a tough week."

So, she's been out a week. Harry and the Healer are still talking in the hallway. She has no answers. A quick glance through the file tells her a few more things. She lives in Leeds - dear gods, it gets busy in Leeds. She graduated top of her class at Hogwarts. She studied Law at a private wizarding Uni. She's listed, by occupation, as 'Ministry' - what that means, she'll figure out later. She probably has to floo into work, what a horrid commute...

Then she reaches the family section, and things become a bit more clear.

Parents: Daniel Granger (dec.) and Patricia Granger (dec.)

Spouse: Harry James Potter, b. 31st of July, 1980

Children: Sirius Daniel Potter, b. 31st of October, 2004. Baby, yet unborn, due late May 2006.

Status Remarks: Comatose. Pregnant. Baby seems to be healthy and functioning normally. Coma in day seven. Brain activity seems normal. Result of nearly-fatal auto accident, 9th of December. Contact with ice and snow caused slight frostbite of leg - cured and healed, with only minor scarring.

The door cracked open as the tears fell. Her parents are dead. She had a feeling, even from year four, that this might happen. Lost in the war, or worse. But she's married! To Harry! And they have a child, named after Harry's godfather and her own father... how lovely...

"'Mione?"

She looks up, and notices just how much Harry has grown to look like his father. His face has changed a little, he's got a shadow on his chin from not shaving. Since when has Harry had to shave? His shoulders are broader, his arms a little more muscular. He's clearly not the scrawny boy he was in his past. His hair, perhaps, has gotten messier. Eyes brighter. Crooked smile threatening to make her smile back. She gives in.

"Harry, I..."

"Thank Merlin you're alright, I've been worried sick, haven't left your side... the Healer's explained to me what happened, I guess there's a bit to catch you up on..."

Her hand moves instinctively to her stomach. _Like the fact that I'm pregnant? _

He grins, and she can see him beaming completely. "Right. Baby number two. You've read through the file, I can see..."

"My parents... and us... what... how..." Her smile fell. She wasn't prepared to deal with all of this. And yet... Harry sat beside her again, and grabbed her hand, and held tight.

"I know. It's... there's a lot to learn. Hopefully you'll remember in time, but it's best to fill you in until then. There's so much you need to know."

She nodded. And looking at their hands intertwined, a rather odd sort of jump happened in her heart. Love. Trust. Somehow, she knew - despite all of this, despite the amnesia - everything was going to be alright.

* * *

><p>"Mr Potter, you really should get some sleep... and food. I assure you Hermione is completely safe here with myself and the nurses, and you need to be as healthy as possible for when she's ready to go home."<p>

"Right... I supposed I could head home for a bit. Rest up. Eat something. Shower..." He sniffed under his arm for effect, making Hermione laugh. In the last few minutes, he'd attempted to fill her in on her own life. She was working as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister - she'd resisted the post at first, since she remembered the particularly cruel toad woman who had held it before - but eventually gave in. Harry was heading the Auror department, the youngest yet to do so. They had the one son, Sirius, and were expecting another child in five more months. Hermione wanted the gender to be a surprise on this one.

While they worked, Luna - who was apparently Hermione's best friend in the entire world - watched the children. Luna had helped Hermione relax a little after uni, introducing her to relaxation techniques she'd learned while travelling with George. Luna, apparently, was married to him, and the pair had a set of twins. The daughter's middle name was Jean, after Hermione herself. She was touched, but altogether felt a little strange still.

George owned a chain of Wheeze's stores now, sixteen total. He still managed the one in Diagon Alley. Luna didn't need to work, she took care of their twins and Sirius, plus Lavender and Dean's daughter, who was three. Lavender and Dean? But then...

"Harry, what about Ron?"

Harry grimaced. He knew what year Hermione thought it was, and who her heart had belonged to as of those weeks. She didn't know how much things had changed after that.

"Ron's living in Australia - Sydney, actually. Plays for their quidditch team. He's got a steady girlfriend there, a sports reporter for the Prophet. They've been together two years now and they're doing well. He writes often, comes to visit when he's playing anywhere near."

Ron was gone. He'd left. So he hadn't been the one to make her happy, the one to change things. Harry had. But how?

"I'm going to head home, I'll be back in a few hours. I could use some sleep. I'll send over Luna if I can get a hold of her. I'm sure she's worried sick about you." He leaned forward, hugging her softly around the shoulders and kissing her forehead. "We'll... figure all that out later."

She nodded, silently thanking the heavens that he hadn't tried to really kiss her, and watched him leave. Harry. Her husband. Oh, dear.

* * *

><p>"Where is she? Hermione! Oh thank god..."<p>

The door flew open, and a very curly-haired Luna came bouncing in, hopping right up onto the end of her bed. Luna had matured, clearly, less like the fourteen year old girl she'd once been, and more like the mother of twins, the caretaker, the wife of a great man.

"Harry told me you were awake and I called George home to watch the kids, he closed up shop and he's probably putting them off with Seamus as we speak, arsehole works from home, he can take a break and watch the babies while we come make sure you're alright... Harry told me what's wrong. The amnesia. I can't believe it..."

Hermione could tell, immediately, that one important thing had changed about Luna - she'd lost that floaty, clueless air about her. She was shining, excited, and casually well spoken. She'd grown up. Hermione silently wondered to herself whether or not the nargles had remained...

"There's his ring now!" A low tone rang from Luna's pocket, and after a quick exchange with who Hermione surmised was George Weasley, she clicked the phone shut. Just a moment later, a head of shaggy read hair proceeded a thin, possibly even taller frame through the door of the room.

"Ah, good, the balloon woman has awoken."

Luna whipped her head around. "George!"

"Sorry, sorry, bad pregnancy joke... retrograde, ah? You remember me, then, as being about six inches shorter and a few million galleons poorer. Ah, the good old days... oh, you also remember me single, too. And childless. And... one of a set." His smile became a little sadder then, and Hermione could only think one thing - not Fred, too...

George nodded, confirming what she hadn't even said aloud. Hermione could feel tears forming. Fred, the confident, loud, usually annoying twin she'd adored as another of her own older brothers.

"There's a lot to fill you in on, Hermione... we figured we'd work on a bit while Harry's out. The rest, we'll leave for him. But first... what's this all been like for you?"

Hermione cleared her throat, beginning to think of chuckling. It seemed ridiculous.

"I woke today to find myself in a Hospital room, when I expected to be in my four poster, late for charms. When the doctor explained why I was here and what had happened, I was handed my folder, which was clearly labelled with a last name I did not recognize as my own, but Harry's. Then I realized I'd grown breasts and gotten fat - sort of. Then, I wondered who this strange man was beside my bed, and why he looked so much like Harry's late father. I figure I can't have gone into the past and messed that up or anything, real time travel is far beyond my comfort zone. I'm only seventeen! Then I hear a few other things. Retrograde amnesia. Auto accident. When did I learn to drive? I've been in a coma for a week. That's not Harry's father, but Harry. My husband. The father of TWO children of mine. Ron's nowhere to be found. I'm actually twenty-six. I'm pregnant. All of this is news to me. As far as I was aware when I woke up, I was missing Charms and Flitwick was probably looking for me."

Luna tried her best not to laugh, she did. She even covered her mouth, turned away, and kept quiet. Bless her. Hermione knew she liked her.

George, on the other hand, appeared to have not changed as much as he could have. He openly laughed, nearly running out of breath.

"Oh, dearest Hermione... how wrong you are. And no wonder you look like someone's taken a beater's bat to your head!"

Hermione frowned. "I look like... what?"

"Big lump. Swollen. Bluish. Nasty, really. Your face is all..."

"George!" Luna swatted at him, and he shut his mouth, still chuckling. Hermione grabbed a small mirror by her bedside and gasped. He was right, her upper face was a little bumped and bruised.

"Looks worse than when I was trying the head swelling sweets on first years..."

Hermione glared. As soon as she found her wand and figured out if she was actually twenty-six and able to use magic outside of school, she was going to hex this older George Weasley into next Tuesday.


	2. Chapter 2

In her dreams, Hermione was still just late for Charms. She was still upset with Ron, who she'd seen snogging Lavender Brown just a week previous. Harry was still just her best friend, Luna still the offbeat, whimsical young girl she'd once been. George was one of a set - Fred was alive.

Cue reality.

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><p>"We were both horribly broke - the media all thought we'd get loads of gold and things because of our parts in the war, but we got medals, a handful of galleons, and a pat on the back. Bit of a public outcry, really. They worshipped me." Harry grinned that same crooked, devilish grin she'd seen on him so many times. But she didn't remember ever seeing it like this - on a man, freshly shaven, with different glasses and broader shoulders and nine years on him. Nine years later, though, she still rolled her eyes. Forever the chosen one.<p>

"I'm sure. But then... you had money from your parents?"

"A bit, yeah. Kept us going for a while, actually. You almost refused my help at first, even though we'd already discovered the truth about your parents. You slept on my couch in a tiny studio flat for a month, got a job at a bookshop, and never stopped. Well, you did later. We'll get to that. You know your job know, Senior Undersecretary, but how you got that job, oh. You're going to _love _that..."

"I'm sure."

"Yeah. We lived off what I was left by my parents, I started Auror training just days after, but with Voldemort gone, my job didn't last long. The auror department was shut down - until I sort of illegally restarted it. I was lucky I am who I am... they ended up just reinstating the department and naming me head of it. It was a big move, to say the least - I'd always wanted to be an auror, here I was nineteen and heading the department."

"I can't imagine. But how did we... you know."

He laughed then, a full laugh like she remembered from when they were young. When he finally stopped, he set his hand over hers. He was still careful, still cautious, even three days after she'd woken - he knew she was confused, might take a while to regain her memories. She was grateful.

"Well, you started earning enough to live on your own - you tried it, too. Lasted about three weeks. Started having nightmares again, like after the war. You got rid of the apartment and we found a two bedroom in Leeds. It was a bit more expensive, so you started doing administrative work for the Ministry. They had actually heard you needed money and called _you _for a job.

"You cooked, I cleaned... sort of. We just sort of fit. We spent our nights together, watching films or seeing friends or just, you know, spending time together. You were upset about Ron for a while, he left just after the war. Ginny and I broke up a few weeks later. We just sort of... happened. I took you out for dinner one night, and someone recognized us. Asked if we were on a date... we both realized we'd dressed as such, acted as such. You admitted you'd spent nearly two hours getting ready, I spent an hour myself. I had brought you to my favorite place uptown, really fancy. We sort of just accepted it as our first date."

"How... awkward."

"It was, at first. Before you kissed me, I imagined it would be awful. Not because of you, of course, just... because of us. And then it wasn't. It set something anew in both of us. We were inseparable. Literally only left each others sides for work. Luna and George had started dating months before that, pretty much right after the war. She took her exams early, graduated early. Her father was gone, too. She moved in with him in the flat above the first shop, they got married two or three years later. Took a while. She wanted to be old enough."

"How lovely."

"Mhmm. She was your Matron of Honor at our wedding - you wouldn't have anyone else. Ginny was a bridesmaid, she wasn't happy about it but was happy for you, mostly. Not me. She still wanted to throttle me, I assume. We got married less than a year and a half after we started dating. Huge wedding. You wanted it small... naturally I had to muck up your plans entirely, and by the time I was finished there were over seven hundred people in attendance. Huge wedding. Most of the ministry... that kind of thing."

"I wouldn't put it past you to go crazy over our wedding, and I'm still surprised we're married."

"You looked past it, somehow. Good thing, too."

She smiled, almost unwillingly. Yes, it sort of was. There was a knock at the door, and her Healer came in, smiling.

"Mr and Mrs Potter - awake and alert, I see, all good. In fact, I have even better news. You're going home. Tests all came back fine. The amnesia, though unfortunate and probably most uncomfortable, should go away. You should regain your memories at some point. I've scheduled you a follow-up appointment for your leg and to check up on the baby. You'll get a call about that soon."

"Excellent. Thank you, sir..." Harry stood, shaking the man's hand vigorously. "Thank you for taking care of my wife."

"My privilege, sir. Not every day I get to save the life of someone who helped save my own! A hundred times over!" He left them with their thoughts, and Hermione could practically feel her head spinning. Of everything Harry had told her, his information about the war had been the most shocking. She couldn't bear hearing it all at once, but a brief overview told her that her parents, Fred, Tonks, Remus, and Dumbledore were all gone. Dumbledore had fallen by Snape's hand, but Snape had ended up being good - Dumbledore's man through and through. He ended up saving Harry, pretty much, and when Harry revealed Snape's everlasting love for Harry's own mother, Hermione wept.

Harry gave her a sad smile then. "You had the same reaction the first time we found out, too."

Earlier that morning, he'd filled her in on the outcome, the things that had happened before, and how the two of them with Ron had finally taken down Voldemort. It was a lot to handle, but there was still more - she was pregnant, and she had another child already. Sirius Daniel Potter was a little over fourteen months - over a year old. A child! And now she'd meet him, in a way. Harry packed her things, signed her out, and lead her to a car in the front.

"We're a bit far... few hours. But I've rented a car, we'll take this to the train station. Once we're off, Luna and Sirius will be waiting. I can't wait for you to see him, I know Luna showed you a picture yesterday but he's so much bigger now!"

She only nodded, heading around the car and sitting in the seat when he opened the door.

* * *

><p>However small the child had been, it certainly couldn't have gotten much bigger. Sirius, at fourteen months, was still quite small, wobbling around on unsteady feet between Luna and George. Hermione's first though, on seeing him through the window, was how much he looked like his namesake - thick, dark hair, eyes not quite grey, but very light hazel, and a tricky little grin across his face. If there were a Marauder reincarnated, it could have been this one. In seconds, though, the door to the house - a pretty tudor style in a semi-suburban area just outside of Leeds - was open. The five inside included Luna, George, a set of strawberry blonde toddlers unmistakably registering as George and Luna's twins, and the child, Sirius. <em>Her <em>child. As if it weren't enough that she felt, by some magnetic bond, that he were hers, his face lit up upon seeing hers behind Harry, and he squealed, walking towards her as fast as his little legs could carry him.

"Mama!"

He held fast onto her leg, and she knew she couldn't do a thing. This was her life, her child - to show her shock and surprise, her discomfort, would only cause pain for the child.

"Sirius, love, come to mum." She flipped her purse - at least, in adulthood, she had expensive things as she hadn't had before - onto one shoulder, and hoisted the child up onto her other hip. He buried his little face into the crook of her neck, giggling, and she could see how curly his little mane of hair was. He'd gotten her curls, oh gods no...

"Mione! You're looking well, oh thank the Nargles..." George stood, sticking his tongue out at Luna - _his wife _- as she rolled her eyes.

"George, how many times have I asked you, no more jokes about those sorts of things... I like to leave them in my magical childhood, untouched by your _wit _and _humor_." As she said these things, she used her fingers like air quotes, mocking George right back. He frowned. Harry cleared his throat.

George, whipping his head around, took in the sight of Hermione. "Right. You are looking well though. Better than when we came to see you... they fix your head alright?"

Hermione simply nodded. She could have responded with more information - a deswelling spell, a paste that got rid of bruises that she could have sworn was a Weasley product, and a few stitches - already healed by magic, bless it - and she was 'normal' again. Though, from what she'd seen in the mirror, normal was far from what she expected.

In the nine years since she'd left Hogwarts, she looked quite different. Harry had helped her, on her injured leg, to the bathroom, where she was able to look in a full length mirror and assess what had become of herself. Her leg was still a bit swollen, no spell had cured that, but her face looked fine. In fact, her face looked different than she remembered. Narrow chin, high cheekbones, smooth skin - thank god that was true. The bushy hair was gone - how had they done that? - and had been replaced with silky smooth strands that fell in loose waves past her shoulders. Her freckles had diminished somewhat, and her super skinny frame from childhood had been replaced with curves - beyond pregnancy. She was a woman now, one with child - and as far as the sixteen year old in her head was concerned, it was brilliant. No more frizz. No more acne. These memories could take a while to regain, but she hoped they came fast. The hair was likely part of a spell, and if she ended up with that bushy mane once again due to an accident...

"Hermione?"

Harry was calling to her. She'd been lost in thought.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Let's get you settled back in... it's been... a long week and a half. I can tell Sirius is glad to have you back."

He was right. Their child had not moved from her arms. Instead, he had seemed to grow quiet, content with the curve of her hip as his resting place. His foot settled against her stomach, the bump there seeming to grow larger every time she looked at it - perhaps, though, that was all in her head.

Luna and George, along with two strangely well-behaved twins, said their goodbyes and left the littler family alone. Harry let out a sigh, sitting on the couch and patting the seat next to him. Hermione obliged, sitting as close to him as she may have when they were friends. He moved in closer still.

"Mione... I can imagine this might be strange for you. I put a few things together... our photographs and things..."

He reached onto a side table and pulled out a small photo album, handing it to her and taking Sirius - the child was sleeping anyway. She flipped to the first page.

It was the two of them, looking a little more like she remembered. It must have been just after the war - Ron was there, they looked rather cozy. Ginny was with Harry as well, they were all at dinner.

The next was slightly later - just Harry and herself. They were getting ice cream, the shot snapped by an unnamed source. His arm was low around her waist, the date read some time in the fall of ninety-nine. Had they been seeing each other already then? She thought they might. She was absolutely beaming.

The next was of a slightly later time - with Luna and George at their wedding. Hermione stood beside Luna, and Bill and Harry beside George. Beyond them, Hermione could see Molly, Arthur, Percy, and a gaggle of other red-headed Weasleys. No Fred - instead, his picture sat on a table in a frame, one of the twins together, smiling. Hermione felt a pang in her heart then, and turned the page.

A shot of her and Harry at dinner, taken by the press - it was a newspaper clipping, as far as she could tell, and included a description - _two heroes, one heart_. How awfully cheesy. They bent their heads close together at a candlelit table. Harry's scrawl was tucked into a corner of the page. _This is the night I proposed for the first time. You stormed out after an argument and I proposed in the middle of traffic in a crowded square. You told me you'd never marry me in a million years. _She laughed. That sounded rather like them, actually.

There was one of her in a long, formal gown, looking impatient. _The Ministry ball - you didn't even want to go. I was late, trying to pick up the ring from our apartment. You refused again, called me an idiot in front of the entire crowd, and I just kissed you. You told me years later that that was the moment you knew you'd marry me anyway. _

__The last in that set was of her and Harry, with Luna awkwardly in the side of the frame. George must have taken it. There was a twin playpen in the background, in what looked like a large backyard - perhaps Luna and George's. Hermione was wrapped around Harry, and obviously crying. _I spilled macaroni salad on your shorts and you told me I'd better propose again before you changed your mind. I kept the ring in my pocket in those days - you practically tackled me when I asked you. _

__There was a shot from a vacation somewhere warm and tropical, and a picture of them with Luna, George, and Seamus. Deans hand was in the way of the shot, messing things up. There were descriptions with each, with Harry's trademark silliness and scrawl. Pictures of Sirius as a baby, his first birthday and Christmas. There was one of them moving into the home they lived in now. A shot of her lying in the middle of the floor, clearly exhausted. One of them on a double date with Luna and George.

It was the last photo in the album, though, that sent something shocking through her whole body. It was her wedding day. She and Harry were barely adults, but clearly in love. The lights were dim around them, and the pair was dancing in the middle of a beautiful dance floor - their first dance together as a married couple. As the picture moved, he dipped her - a little too low, she could tell, than he was supposed to. Instead of getting frustrated, as she felt she might have - the girl in the photo just laughed, cheeks rosy. She beamed at Harry, who had grown taller then but wasn't any less skinny, and he beamed back at her, twice over. The love she felt between the two of them in that moment, it was...

"Ah. You're done then."

"This is really us?"

He smiled wide, then, and it was almost as if he were no different from nine years ago. "Yeah. That's us. We threw a wedding together in like, a year. And you were... breathtakingly beautiful. I still lose my words when I think about it."

_Well, then._ Hermione took one more glance at her husband and smiled. This was her life. And until she remembered it, perhaps he could teach her a thing or two about love.


	3. Chapter 3

In the past weeks, Hermione had endlessly studied a copy of her file. It was as if she were getting into character for a play - a very serious, very lengthy play. She was no longer sixth year Hermione, with classes and professors and rainy quidditch matches to worry about. This was something entirely different - a messy office at the ministry (since when had she gotten so disorganized?), messy diapers on her young child (that mess she couldn't control - Harry had laughed when she asked), and a messy sort of memory block that kept her from remembering the past nine years, from remembering that this was her reality. It wasn't really like a play, then, but like waking up from a dream. She could no longer go to the large, warm school library at her leisure. She could no longer rest through the night without being awoken by crying or shouts. She could no longer drown out the chatter of those around her by shutting her four poster, putting on headphones, and turning up the volume on whatever radio station she could charm a walkman to pick up.

No, this was something different entirely. A house of her own, a career, a loving husband and a child that, though she didn't remember having as her own, believed her to shine brighter than the sun itself. This life was full of appointments, lunches, recovery, and responsibility. It was something she'd been waiting for since... well, since she was that sixth year. Since she had been young. Perhaps, then, this wasn't so bad after all. Even if she still didn't feel quite like it was hers.

* * *

><p>"Harry, I got a call from Kingsley..."<p>

"At least you remember that name. He _is_ your boss - boss of everyone, really. Minister, still."

"Harry, he wants to know when I'm coming back to work."

"And?"

"All I could tell him was that I don't even know what I do for a living, let alone if I have an office or how to get to it."

Harry began chuckling, something she learned was completely inevitable. She'd known this of Harry since they were school children, and apparently nothing had changed. He couldn't keep a straight face to save his life. "You have an office just three doors from his. I helped you hang all of the higher things. You've got shelves and drawers everywhere... though I think I should let you see all of that glory for yourself."

"Do you think you could show me where?"

"Certainly. I'm granted... well... certain liberties when it comes to getting into the ministry building."

"Funny, considering we broke into it completely illegally twice while you were still underage."

"Yeah, fifth year and seventh... huh. Never thought of it that way. They should probably be arresting me, if it hadn't been for me saving their arses and everything..."

It was Hermione's turn to chuckle, then. Harry's sense of humor had changed only slightly since they were younger - she remembered it being lighter, more than of a teenage boy than of a grown man who had saved the world as they knew it. His biting sarcasm and choice of terminology at times was more similar to her own than she realized, until then. They had grown to be a lot like each other, then. Moreso than they'd been in school.

"Yes, well. He wants to know when I'll be back, and since we have no definitive date on me remembering what in the world I'm doing here, I should probably at least start earning a paycheck again."

"Monday, then?"

"That leaves two days to get my laundry done for work clothes... I see those are in a pile by the closet. And for you to remind me what exactly I do for eight to ten hours a day. I saw a check stub... I don't know what on earth I must be doing for that salary."

"Loads of stuff, I suppose. Busy work. Calls and owls and meetings, lunches and business tracking, interoffice memos, Kingsley's full schedule, _his _dry cleaning... more of the same."

"I'm a busy body. That's my career?"

"Only after having passed laws for non-human rights, first."

"Of course. You know Hermione Granger better than she does, apparently..."

"Potter. Hermione Potter." He winked at her, and she felt a warmth in her chest. Right. Hermione Potter.

Before they could laugh, a soft whine was heard from the other room. The two made eye contact, but Harry waved her away. "That'll be Sirius, he's especially cranky after his afternoon nap..."

"I'll help. I mean... I've never really dealt with children, but if I have one - soon to be two - I should probably learn."

Harry smiled, sighing. "Yeah. Come on then, he'll want to see you more than me... I have a boy and the bloody thing wants nothing but his mum and flowers and pies..."

He knew the child well. Just three minutes later, after Harry tried holding him twice, little Sirius had his head of dark, curly hair tucked into the crook of Hermione's shoulder, and was squirming against her side.

"Harry, from what I know about children... isn't he sort of small for his age?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, he's really small actually. He was born a bit premature. Doctors weren't sure he would make it. You were reading the paper, peeked over the top, and assured us he would. That was all. 'He'll be fine. He's our child... after what we've been through, a few weeks early delivery will be nothing'. And he was fine. And he was actually born the next day, full head of hair already."

"I see." Sirius, at fourteen months, was more the size of a nine month old. He could walk, babble a few words at a time, and knew names, but still looked as if he should barely be crawling. Hermione sighed, running her hand over the mop of curly dark hair resting on her shoulder. He was at times much like his namesake - needy, silly, and funny. But at times, he was a bit more like Harry than she'd reckoned. More than any baby she'd ever heard of, Sirius Daniel Potter was a troublemaker. It must have been the last name, of course. He pulled down pictures, made messes, and waited until just after Hermione had changed him to soil himself again, laughing. Harry, who knew this behavior to be typical of their son, couldn't help but smile - oh, if only Hermione could remember what she'd been like before the accident. He hoped she would - much had changed since their sixth year. That night before dinner, as they put Sirius to bed and folded laundry side by side on the bed, he attempted to remind her.

"Yeah... you're not as clean as you used to be, I guess."

"How? I can't stand clutter, at all... I don't know what could have made me change that."

"A baby. A messy husband. A busy job. Laws to pass. Dinner to make - I'm still rubbish at cooking, that hasn't changed - and dishes to do. I've broken seven in the last month."

"What do you do, then?"

"Oh, loads of stuff. Hunt down remaining Death Eaters. Do interviews. Do your laundry. And mine, and the baby's, and get the extra bedroom ready for our second."

"That's already being worked on?"

"Mhmm. I started it as soon as we knew for sure you were pregnant again. It's actually sort of hidden through Sirius'... though I'm not surprised you don't recognize the charm. You, as you remember things now, haven't made it up yet. That happened just after the end of what would have been our seventh year. Instead of studying as you normally would, you spent a fair amount of time making up as much magic as you could. When we won and everything sort of went back to normal... as if we ever knew what that was... you wrote a book on it. People loved it. Paid for our honeymoon, essentially..."

"Can I see it?"

"The baby's room, or the book?"

"Both."

"Oh, yeah. There's one in there. We'll finish this up in a minute." He tossed a shirt down, offering her his hand and help off the bed. She obliged - her round tummy was causing a bit of an imbalance. Pregnancy, apparently, was very uncomfortable. He lead her down the hall and into Sirius' room, where he was resting peacefully. Across the opposite wall was an open expanse of space not more than a foot and a half wide. Harry mumbled something quietly enough as to not wake Sirius, and a bit of the wall disappeared, much like Diagon Alley but much, much quieter.

Inside was a nursery, newer looking than Sirius' but also older. There was an antique bassinet, covered in a single layer of cream colored silk, in the corner. There was a handmade rocking chair in the other, with footrest and a small table and lamp - with her book on it. There was already a small dresser full of things like simple white onesies, socks, and hats.

"We don't know what it is yet - I mean, of course it's a little witch or wizard, but boy or girl... so we just went with this. We can always make it girlier or less so. You wanted me to start it, and I was supposed to wait until we knew what it was and finish it before I showed you... but I figured you might like to see it now. Help... make things a little more real."

And it did. She had Harry for a husband, baby Sirius as her own son, and another child on the way - one that held so much potential. This life - her life - was so new to her, and yet in a way, she saw how it all fit into place. Harry, her new messy tendencies, their children, the ministry job, dinners, Luna and George, Leeds. She had to admit that a few times, as a younger girl, she'd let the idea of being with Harry slip through her head - but she'd never in a million years dreamed it might come true. As far as she was concerned, Ron Weasley had just broken her heart. But from what she'd been told, he'd fixed that. And then they'd just fallen apart. Harry let one hand rest on the bassinet and another on Hermione's arm, then let it slide down to her stomach. He smiled at her, and something within her nearly forced her to smile back. This time, however, it wasn't out of obligation, out of confusion - maybe this time, she was just learning that this life was better than any she could have imagined at sixteen.

* * *

><p>"Hermione - thank gods... I'd heard about your accident, couldn't come to visit. By the time I'd freed up some time, you were already out and recovering. The baby...?"<p>

"Is fine, thank you. Kingsley, you look so..." The small bit of hair that remained at the lower part of his neck was distinctly grey. His face was more weathered, lines etched in by hard work and time. He seemed to not stand as tall as he once did, stooping slightly. But then, almost a decade had passed.

"Old, yes." He smiled, as if reading her mind. He'd always been like that. "Nine years, Hermione... I can't imagine." At that moment, Harry had finished his conversation with an older man by the elevators and came to stand beside her. "I trust Harry has been helping you remember."

"He has... as much as he can. I still don't remember anything past sixth year, it's a lot to get used to."

Kingsley nodded, smiling. "Lets get you to your office, then. They put a temp in your place while you were out and the witch can't do anything. She's no you. I had mixed up appointments for four days, and she didn't even apologize... blamed it on me, if you believe that..." Kinglsey beckoned for the pair to follow him just a short way down the hall to a rather large office on the left. Hermione's office was slightly messy, giving the appearance that she really never had time to clean. The phone was already ringing. There were notes pinned on boards everywhere.

"Mostly, Hermione, you set up meetings, make calls, and take care of all of my communication. You're my assistant - but there's something I kept Harry from telling you, for the time being... something we've been talking about for a year or two now."

The phone stopped ringing - likely Kingsley's doing - and he closed the door behind them. Harry smiled now, holding Hermione's hand. What could be so important?

"I've been minister for a decade now - longer than I should have been. Though I know our country and our population well, I don't think... someone at my age is apt enough to lead it for much longer. I've signed a petition to resign from my post in three years."

"Oh that's... that's mad! Who would take your place, who on earth could fill your shoes?"

Harry now laughed openly beside her. What could be so funny?...

"You, Hermione. I've been training you for the past six months on daily operations, foreign affairs, protocol... everything. I offered it to Harry first, you urged him to take it... but he had someone else in mind. There will not be an election, as it'll be in the middle of my term, and you're essentially guaranteed another term after the first. You'll be one of the youngest, yes - you'll be officially starting your first full term at thirty, first half term at twenty-eight. But as soon as Harry mentioned your name, I knew you'd be even better than he would - ruddy troublemaker."

Harry started. "Hey!"

The little group laughed, but the part of Hermione's brain that remembered she'd just been told she'd be Minister of Magic in a few years was terrified.

* * *

><p>"You alright?" Harry put his hands on her shoulders, standing behind her. Just the warmth from his body was enough - though she was just getting used to being married to him, she had always been used to him being her comforter, her rock.<p>

"I don't know. That was... a lot to hear."

"I can't imagine. You cried when we told you at first, declined it for two months. Kingsley finally told you if you didn't take the position he'd give it to some tart from the Young Leaders program... you didn't want that at all."

"I can't imagine I would. Whatever that was."

"Another... thing that's happened, I guess. But you're alright?"

"As alright as I can be, given the circumstances."

"I'll finish the dishes. Don't worry about it."

She thanked him, stepping aside, but not before he grabbed her hand in his.

"Hermione, I... I know this is really tough on you as well, but this is tough on all of us. In nine years, you changed quite a bit, and we've all formed so many memories... to not have you remember them at all is heartbreaking. Especially for me. We've started a life together, and... don't mistake me for insensitive. I love you more than anything and of course I'll stay that way through all of this. But I can't wait for the day that you start remembering things, that you remember our first kiss or why you fell in love with me in the first place, or how you used to make your mum's old chicken recipe, or all of the silly things you did while pregnant with Sirius."

"I want to remember those things too, I really do Harry - but until then... I'm not who I was. I mean, I am who I was nine years ago, but you've got to think of it like dealing with sixteen year old me. I was stubborn, and a bit awful really."

"Not denying that..."

She smacked him on the arm, never letting go of his hand.

"But Hermione... I mean it. I love you. I always will, even if you... even if you decide after this that I'm not what you need right now. We could make it work, and I..."

"Harry James Potter - I have loved you in one way or another since Halloween of our first year at Hogwarts. You saved my life, you became like family to me that year. Like Hogwarts was your home in that world, you were my family. And you still are - just, in a more legal and binding and bloodline way now. You're my best friend - not any sort of head injury could ever make me forget that. And it's not as if I find the idea of being married to you as... oh, offensive or anything. It's just unusual, given what I remember."

Harry grinned, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. "We've always been best friends. Always. Always will be. You go rest up, I imagine your back is sore after going back to work..."

"Horribly. And Harry?" She dropped his hand but stepped forward, just inches away. "Thank you. For the past nine years, and for the six before it too." She kissed his cheek and turned, walking quickly around the corner. Once safely in their bedroom, she sat in a warm bath and tried to piece together everything she'd been told about the last nine years. If a man loved her this much - one as wonderful and caring as Harry was and always had been - she'd either remember everything about the last nine years by regaining her memory, or by making up for as much of it as possible. He was worth it, as was Siruis and - with a brush of her hand over her stomach - their child to be.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Writer's block is really great. No. I swear. It is. **

**I hate everything and I want to die and dear god I have like absolutely zero drive to write anything.  
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**This fic will remain short - really short really, I never intended to take this more than ten chapters. It'll probably be seven? Six? Who knows... ten? Wee...  
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**Really impossibly short chapter, sorry. There's going to be a time jump between here and the next chapter that'll be apparent then, but there wasn't much in this time period. Cheers! **

* * *

><p>The gel was cold - freezing, really. Harry had taken the afternoon off to take her into her appointment for the baby. Even St. Mungo's was using muggle technology, and her ultrasound appointment had begun just a few minutes ago, and was now ending. She was four months pregnant and right on schedule - the baby was moving slightly.<p>

"Mrs Potter?"

She'd been so distracted by the image of the baby on the screen that she hadn't been listening properly. The Healer was waving her hand, and Hermione snapped to.

"Hmm?"

"I'd asked if you'd like to know the sex of the baby."

The baby. Right. She looked to Harry, and the look in his eyes was easy to read. It was her choice - but she remembered what Harry had told her before. Before the accident, she'd been impatient, she wanted to know the gender so they could decorate the room and think about names. Harry smiled, and they both turned to the healer.

"Yes. Please."

"See right there? That little shape? It's a girl."

A daughter. A girl, one baby Sirius could look after, one she could dress in pretty clothes and teach everything she knew. A girl who would have her brains, and Harry's heart. Hermione's heart swelled with joy, they'd already had one perfect - albeit very small - child, and another was to come. She couldn't remember being this happy, ever. But when Harry took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, she had the feeling that maybe she'd been this happy with him all along.

* * *

><p>"I'm going to go get Sirius... should I pick up something to eat on the way home?"r.<p>

Hermione nodded at Harry, who was just walking out the door. Their appointment that afternoon had left Hermione feeling rather uneasy, so she felt a meal would be better left to him.

"Chinese? Italian?"

"Either sounds fine, Harry. Thank you."

He smiled at her and hesitated before leaving. She'd observed him doing this over the past few days, and had realized something - before the accident, she probably would have kissed him goodbye. She probably would have told him she loved him. And while she wasn't sure mouth to mouth contact was on the table yet, she'd always loved Harry. Just... in a different way, she supposed.

Hermione stood and retrieved the photo album from across the room. Harry had put it together after the accident, trying to piece together their lives for her so that she might remember what she'd forgotten. Photographs from their wedding, the birth of Sirius, days out... but nothing sparked her memory. Not a one. Harry returned shortly after, hands full of a fussy little boy and a full bag of food. Hermione stood, silently taking Sirius while Harry updated her on what he'd been up to at Luna and George's - trouble, of course. Moments later he was fed and put to bed, and as Harry was getting out their food, he sighed.

"You've been silent since I got home. What's wrong? You seemed so happy after the appointment..."

Hermione felt the breath go out of her. Of course she did, and of course she was. But the future was hard to imagine, when she couldn't remember most of her past.

"I was - I am. But it's... difficult. Not being able to remember anything."

Harry frowned, dishing out the food. "I can't imagine... and you know how sorry I am. I just wish there was something we could do, something magic, a healer maybe..."

"You heard them, Harry, there's no way. Not like this - damage to the brain. There's nothing."

"Yes, but..."

"Just drop it Harry, please. I feel bad enough as it is, I can't remember any of this and I'm clearly not the wife you remember..."

"Hermione, you'll always be the wife I remember. Because you're always still Hermione - my best friend, my wife, the mother of my children... forgetting bits and pieces doesn't change that because I haven't forgotten a thing."

"But I don't even know how we got together! I don't remember feeling a thing like this for you! I don't remember Christmases, or Sirius being fussy..."

"Hermione, please..."

"I don't remember George and Luna's wedding, or their children, I don't remember how I felt when we got pregnant this time or the last, I don't remember that I got you a fancy watch for last Christmas, I can't remember those cold, lonely nights on the hunt for horcruxes, or how you'd comfort me in the dark..."

Hermione felt like continuing, but was stopped abruptly by Harry and the widest grin she'd ever seen.

"How can you be smiling! I'm in tears! Harry, what's going on?"

"The watch."

"What about it?"

"Since the accident, I never told you about the watch. But you knew you gave it to me last Christmas."

"I said that?"

"You said, 'I don't remember getting you a fancy watch last Christmas...' but clearly you do. Or something in there does." He pointed at her head, and a million things seemed to storm in Hermione's mind at once. If Harry hadn't told her, that meant she'd regained a memory. He kissed her forehead without warning.

"That big brain of yours doesn't seem to want to give up. Hermione... this could be the start."

"I can't even... I don't remember even remembering that! How is this possible? I..."

"The healers all said it could take a while, and it might be sudden. Your mind is still fuzzy, still not quite remembering, but you bought me this watch last Christmas. Searched for the perfect one for two full months and wouldn't let me see it, even though you're rubbish at keeping secrets and I knew you were getting me a watch from the beginning."

"I got the idea from George. He'd told me where."

Harry nodded. "Yes! Do you remember when?"

"Christmas Eve. I'd taken so long trying to think of which one was perfect, best for you... and I finally decided it was just a watch, and that you'd be happy with it as long as it told time and wasn't purple or anything."

Harry held her tight for a moment, then gestured back towards the table. "Love. Food's getting cold."

Hermione grinned - her first memory back. From that one, she could branch out, remember new - technically old - things. She couldn't quite remember which store she'd been to, or how much she'd paid for it, but she remembered the feeling of seeing Harry opening it, pretending to be surprised, just for her. In that moment, she'd felt so much love for him - she knew that now. They ate their dinner in near silence, not daring to press further, but contented with one simple memory and their clasped hands on the table between them.

* * *

><p>"Mrs Potter... your first memory! How wonderful." Her healer was beaming at her from across the small office, offering her tea. She took it, though she must have stopped putting sugar in her tea some time in the last nine years, because it tasted much too sweet. She didn't say anything, couldn't even be bothered by it. She had been ecstatic. One simple memory...<p>

"Yes. I didn't even recognize it as something I'd forgotten. Harry and I were... arguing, sort of. And I blurted out how I didn't remember getting him a watch... but I clearly did."

"That's good progress - especially so soon after. Takes some people years. Once your first memories start coming back, they all should, in time."

"I do hope so. I must have seen something in Harry, all those years ago... I don't remember it, but I want to."

"It's a good step. We'll schedule an appointment for next week?"

It was penned in and Hermione left the office feeling slightly less excited. When she'd awoken this morning, she remembered even less about the watch - she'd had to look at it on Harry's wrist before remembering she'd remembered it at all. It was all so confusing. She didn't like the feeling. Never had been in her personality.

What if it took her years for the next one? What if it never came?


	5. Chapter 5

"Have their been any discoveries recently? Any memories recalled?"

St. Mungo's had set Hermione up for an appointment with a psychiatrist. They thought that with some careful prodding, Hermione's mind might be more able to recall memories from her past, and start remembering her present life.

"Not really. I knew how to make my mum's old chicken recipe, but I'd seen that a few times as a child, so it's not anything recent."

"That's not bad... still something. Often it can be difficult for someone with Retrograde Amnesia to be so clear on things from their past, even before the date they jump back to."

"Yes, I was reading a book the other day that said that it can make all memories unclear... there's one I have questions about, but I'm sure you couldn't confirm it for me."

"Is there someone who could?"

_Harry's got his arm 'round my shoulders, but it isn't helping anything. Ron made his intentions and interests clear - he doesn't want me. Doesn't love me. Maybe never did..._

"Yes, there is. I'm sure he'd laugh at me though, it wasn't the nicest moment in our history."

_Ron's gone and snogged Lavender Brown... I suppose it _could _be to keep her from talking so much, she's got the most obnoxious voice! _

Hermione supposed that there was a bit of truth, even then, to what she felt for Harry all these years later. Even when he knew how upset she was about Ron, he blew off everyone else - Ginny and his other friends included - to seek her out and make sure she was okay. And the strangest part was, she thought she could remember little golden birds...

"At this point Hermione, I don't think he'd laugh at you... he's your husband. And if he remembers, he can help you, too."

"How did you know I was talking about Harry?"

"Instinct. Even with your Amnesia, he's constantly your leaning post. Remember that - you married him for a reason."

"Yes, I did..."

The session ended moments later, and Hermione felt herself feeling more unsure than ever. She'd married Harry, even when all she could remember were such strong feelings for Ron. Something had happened in the mean time to make her change her mind, something Harry had done had won her over. She remembered the things he'd said, the stories she had heard from Harry and their friends. But when she thought of Ron in that moment, she felt a sinking feeling in her chest. He'd broken her heart more than once, then.

* * *

><p>"Just calling to see how the appointment went... and making sure you've got a proper lunch." Harry called her every day as soon as her lunch began, always spoke to her for fifteen minutes or so, and then let her have her break. It was sweet, she wished she'd remembered more of these.<p>

"It was... I don't know if it's going to do me any good, Harry. She wants to talk about what I do remember, from all those years ago, and I remember things but they're all fuzzy. And they're a fat lot of good now, I don't remember the past decade of my life and that's what I'm trying to do, after all, not chit-chat about Hogwarts days."

"She's a professional, Hermione. She probably knows what she's doing."

"Probably. But she's going about it in the worst way possible."

Harry chuckled, she could practically see him rolling his eyes through the phone. Hermione knew it was in her nature to be a little picky, _that _she remembered without a problem.

"So what did you talk about today?"

"I thought I saw birds. The night I fought with Ron."

"You would have. You charmed them yourself, shot them at his head. I've never seen you so mad, not even in third year when you hit Draco Malfoy right 'cross his chin."

"Oppugno? On Ron?"

"Didn't think you had it in you. You've proven pretty feisty over the years, Hermione..."

"Yes, well."

Harry excused himself to finish a report and let her finish her lunch. She spent the next half hour wondering how, if they were her birds, they'd been such poor quality. Really, she should have done a much better job, she'd been practicing for ages.

* * *

><p>If there were one experience Hermione had to say was the strangest, following her accident, it would be watching Harry. Not speaking to him - even now, there was a deep comfort between them and she never felt odd - but just watching him do normal things like cooking, caring for their child, clipping his nails. Harry as an adult was fundamentally the same as Harry as a teenager - a little forgetful, a bit clumsy, always believed the best out of things, always caring and willing to help. When she'd dropped a hot pan in the kitchen the night previous, he'd simply cleaned it up, sat her down with a cup of tea, and heated up leftovers for them to eat that night. He cared for her deeply, and while she couldn't yet remember marrying him, or having a child with him, (or conceiving Sirius in the first place, since she'd never done that before and could only barely imagine doing that with Harry, just a bit), she knew that what happened in the last decade was, somehow, right. Completely so.<p>

Harry was in the kitchen again, checking on a casserole in the oven that he'd thrown together. Hermione was watching him run his hand through his hair, look at the timer... and it dawned on her just how little he'd actually changed.

He'd grown up, sure - physically he had changed the most. She'd seen him dressing for work in the morning, and while she mostly looked away, she'd looked one morning while he had nothing on but boxer briefs, and she'd been pleased by what she saw. He was definitely a man now, in form and in other ways. But in demeanor, he was the same best friend she'd always had. And she thought, just maybe, that was what had made it work all along.

"I don't know if you'll like this, as it is. In school you used to hate peppers, bell peppers, wouldn't touch one. I think it's the only thing you were really afraid to even get near. You'd have fought Voldemort yourself if it had meant not eating one. After you got pregnant with Sirius though, you ate them like crazy. You'd eat one like an apple, bite and sliver at a time. And now after this pregnancy, you'll eat them with anything - peanut butter, ice cream, cheese."

"All of that sounds awful."

"Yeah, but this turned into your favorite dish I could make. I've got a limited list, it usually just includes heating up leftovers and this. Cheese, herbs, chicken, pasta, and peppers. We'll live off this one tray for four days, including lunches."

"Peppers are the devil."

"Hermione..." He turned to see her coy smile - she was teasing him, and she'd known it.

Once dinner was on the table, Harry prodded her more about her psychiatrist session. "Do you think you have a better understanding, now?"

"Of the birds, yes. And I remember why, of course. How did all of that go?"

Harry looked uncomfortable, but cleared his throat. If it might help her remember anything at all...

"Ron dated Lavender all through Christmas, and you went home to your parents for the holidays. When we all came back, he was already irritated with her, but refused to admit it. She was his first girlfriend, you know. Kept dating her all the way through March... meanwhile, Romilda Vane - not sure if you remember her, hope you don't - tried to sneak me a love potion in some chocolates. I didn't eat them, and they sat for three months."

"They were probably really potent by then..."

"Yeah, Ron found out the hard way. He thought they'd been a present for his birthday. They'd just fallen off my four-poster... ate half the box. He was shouting out that he was madly in love with Romilda and I had to rush him to Professor Slughorn and hope he'd be able to do something. Mixed up the antidote quickly, but gave him mead that had been poisoned..."

"What was Slughorn doing with poisioned mead?"

"Sort of a long story. Malfoy trying to kill Dumbledore. We'll save that one for later. Anyway, Ron started convulsing, and... you remember the book? From the half blood prince?"

"Of course."

"It had told me to use a bezoar for poisons. Luckily I remembered... saved his life that night. He ended up in the hospital wing, out cold. But he kept muttering things we couldn't understand. You barely left his bedside for sleep and classes, didn't eat for two days. Lavender comes storming in after she can't find him, shouting out about how she should have been told first, why didn't anyone get her, she was his _girlfriend _after all..."

Harry was gesturing wildly with his fork, and had to pick up a piece of pasta that he'd dropped. "But then she comes and tries to shove you out, but Ron starts saying your name in his sleep... Just says it two or three times. To this day, won't admit he was conscious for that, but I bet half our gold he was. Lavender left. You and Ron were awkward as all hell but fine afterwards."

Hermione laughed openly, and Harry watched her. She could feel his eyes on her, and she smiled. "I can only imagine Ron, in the throes of love, claiming to be mad for Romilda Vane... I do remember her hair, just as fluffy as mine had been, once..."

"Yeah, you stayed pretty poofy until just around then, too. Came back from sixth year with considerably smoother hair. You'd finally convinced yourself to use a hair potion. People noticed... I know I had."

"Harry! You were still with Ginny..."

"Didn't mean I didn't notice that the only other woman I spent most of my time with had come back more confident and, well, much more like a woman."

She rolled her eyes. She never would have thought Harry had been even remotely interested in her in their school days, but apparently things changed...

She helped him clear the table, and agreed when he suggested they should watch a movie to finish off their Friday. Luna would have Sirius for the weekend, had picked him up before dinner started, and Hermione would soon know why. Harry had mentioned a surprise trip starting Saturday morning and ending the next night, and she was curious as ever. He'd even packed clothes for her, which she wasn't sure he could even do properly, and kept their destination a complete secret.

"Still not telling me?"

"No."

"Fine. I'll take it as another surprise in the last few weeks..."

"This one is good. I'm hoping it... sparks a few memories. You'll understand why."

Content with the knowledge that he wouldn't answer any of her questions, Hermione settled in beside her husband, barely touching. As the night went on, however, she found herself inexplicably itching to move closer to him. Every ten minutes was a new challenge - his arm low on her waist, scooting so closed they touched everywhere, her head on his shoulder, etcetera. By the end of the film, Harry was sitting down, Hermione had her back against the armrest of the couch, and her legs were over his. She was halfway in his lap, with his arms fully around her, and she quite liked it. Maybe that was remembering a feeling, maybe it was love for Harry that she'd felt all along - but the unmistakable comfort, warmth, and intimacy she felt just being so close to him was a feeling she wouldn't soon forget - amnesia or not.

* * *

><p>"Ready?"<p>

There was a small overnight bag in their trunk, and Harry walked Hermione around to the passenger side. Though he had explained it was her car, Hermione couldn't remember ever getting her license, let alone learning to drive, and had forfeited that right to him.

"As I'll ever be. Will it be long?"

"Not terribly. A few hours, most."

But later on their trip, Hermione would realize they were heading straight for London.

"Any reason we didn't take a train?"

"Yeah, more expensive, for some awful reason. Plus where we're going is just a few too many underground stops from Kings Cross."

When Harry finally pulled up in front of a restaurant just before noon, they were both starving. He'd instructed her to wear something nice enough for a somewhat fancy lunch, and that he'd packed the rest for their night and the next day. It was freezing, so she'd worn nice, tight-fitting black pants, a flowy sort of grey top under a black jacket, two different scarves, and low-heeled boots. She'd have worn higher heels if her back wasn't hurting her so much. Pregnancy did that...

They ate and chatted about their time in the city. Harry told her about all the places they would go together, their favorite brunch, every place they'd ever fought - there weren't many. He showed her the street corner where she'd stormed out after their first big fight and he'd proposed the first time.

He walked her up and down streets full of shops that she'd seen in her youth, showed her where he bought the ring that she had on her finger now, where they found out she was pregnant the first time, where they'd gone on their first sort of official date. He showed her where she used to get her hair done, where he'd bought her her first expensive purse, and where she'd fallen and broken her ankle wearing heels for a work lunch. Apparently, heels had never been her first choice...

When he took her to dinner that night, it was the same spot they'd had their first date. He told her he'd booked a suite in their favorite hotel, pre-ordered room service snacks, and had made sure they would have the utmost privacy. He wanted them to enjoy their night, and while Hermione could feel stares from strangers in the street - likely magic folk who knew who they were - no gaze was as strong as Harry's. She only wished she could remember all of these wonderful things with him and get back to what had apparently been her life.

* * *

><p>The room was huge - as big as their first apartment, Harry told her. It was posh, but comfortable. He drew her a bath, helped sweep the hair off her neck so she could put it in a bun, and left her with bubbles and steam and relaxation. As much as she could tell he'd wanted to join her... she just wasn't ready for anything nearly close to that yet. She hadn't let him kiss her, yet... but why not?<p>

She pondered the reasons as she slipped into the water, careful to test the temperature. Apparently, it had been warm enough for a little someone to feel... there was a definite movement in her abdomen.

Her daughter had kicked. She yelped. Harry was at the door instantly, and almost opened it fully before remembering her current status.

"Are you alright? Is everything okay?"

"Come get a towel, quick! She kicked! Harry, she kicked!"

There was a brief silence, and Harry burst out laughing. "I forgot, this is sort of like the first time to you... gods, there are towels across the bathroom, but I don't want you slipping... can I come through?"

She gave her approval, pressing her body as best as she could against the side of the tub. If Harry stepped too close, all he'd be able to see was her bum, and it was just a bum, for goodness sake...

He stepped in, smiling. "Even in a bath, half messed, startled, you're the most beautiful thing..." He grabbed a towel and stayed just far enough back to hand it to her. He turned around while she stepped out and dried, and brought back a sleep shirt and pants for her. She thanked him, dressed, and then joined him in the separate sitting room of their suite.

"She kicked! It was the weirdest thing, I felt her there... right there!" She felt out the spot, then grabbed Harry's hand without hesitation and placed in on her belly, right where she'd felt the movement. He smiled.

It was weird, really. Like a bit of deja vu. Only, she'd been wearing different pants. And a different shirt. And they'd been in the sitting room of their old apartment, and it was the first rain of the season... she gasped. Harry looked up at her, surprised.

"Did she kick again? Did she..." He trailed off when he saw her tears. She'd remembered something, she knew that much, and while details were slipping, she knew what it was. Her stomach had been bigger, she was pregnant with Sirius. At least six months. It was the first rain in August and he had been fussy, hiccuping and kicking all morning. There was no sun to speak of, but what little light outside had cast a shadow of Harry walking into their sitting room, scratching his bottom and yawning.

_"Morning... you were up early." _

He had come to sit beside her, resting his hand on her belly instinctively. Feeling the fussy child inside, he'd given her a sheepish smile. That smile...

"Harry, I was pregnant with Sirius. Six months. It was... it was the first rain, late in August, and I'd been up all morning because he wouldn't settle down. You came in, and... you felt my belly, and we laughed about it, and you..."

"I made pancakes! Yes! And you threw them up later but... you wouldn't remember what you told me?"

"I think I remember something about them still being good! Harry!" She reached over immediately, and he pulled her in towards him. This was her first real memory, the first thing she could actually picture, instead of just facts. She'd been so afraid that her memories wouldn't come back, but then this one had, and it was so precious...

"I love you, Hermione. I don't care what you think of me saying it now, I love you, always have, always will. I'm so... proud of you, if that's the word I guess..." He kissed her hair, her forehead, her nose, and when he pulled back, she was struck with the instant desire to snog him thoroughly.

That was strange, perhaps, to sixteen-year-old Hermione - before the last decade, after the accident, before this first kick of their daughter had caused her to remember such an ordinary yet touching moment between the two of them...

She leaned forward, tentatively pressing her lips to his. It _was _odd. Nothing like Viktor Krum, not at all. Harry responded enthusiastically, letting out a little hum when he realized, a moment later, that she was kissing him. Remembering that it would be almost like their first kiss to her, she was grateful that he took it slowly, holding her face in his hands, moving his mouth gently against hers, feeling her hair, resting a hand on her belly, running his hands over every place she felt comfortable with. Minutes later they resurfaced, and it was like that kiss had sparked something in her - that feeling she'd been waiting for, that love for Harry, the feeling she knew she'd once had. She loved him, and he loved her. And their daughter had just kicked!

"Hermione, I..."

"Shh. I was... overcome by emotion. And I will be again, if you don't watch it." She smirked. It had felt so wonderful, like something had finally clicked together in her brain and in her heart.

"Maybe I will, then, I'd like to do that a million and a half more times in my life."

"Keep saying things like that, and you will." She planted one more chaste kiss on his lips before curling into his side, not unlike the night before, but with her legs out behind her. Harry ran his hand over her belly, and they felt their daughter kick a handful of times after that. When the hour finally struck midnight and Hermione found herself exhausted, they settled into bed together, holding each other, until she finally drifted off to sleep.

When she woke in the morning, she kissed him again just to make sure it hadn't been a dream. It felt just as good as the night before, and they both smiled through the kiss.


End file.
